


dumb ways to die

by alethela



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, idiots to lovers, rated t because felix says the fuck word, theyre in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alethela/pseuds/alethela
Summary: Sylvain is a mess. Felix is also a mess. They make it work, somehow, but neither of them are very good at it.OR:Four times Sylvain fucks up and one time he doesn't.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 108





	dumb ways to die

**Author's Note:**

> first fire emblem fic. i love sylvix and they are super duper in love. sylvain is a himbo. that is all

1.

Felix was angry.

Well- he was always angry about something or other, but today he was angry and it was Sylvain's fault. Sylvain knew it, and so did Felix, and that was probably why nothing he said was making it better.

"I told you I'm sorry," he said for the thousandth time, trailing after Felix to the training grounds. It was dusk at the Garreg Mach monastery; the sky was a riot of purple and orange, clashing before they threw themselves onto the monastery’s stone-hewn walls like the aftermath of a painter’s fit. It was dusk, and most students were starting to go to bed, and Sylvain was fighting with Felix right outside the dormitories.

“I don’t care,” Felix snapped back. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears. He most definitely did care.

Sylvain hurried up a step or two and caught Felix by the arm, trying to keep him from stalking off so they could stop a moment and _talk._

“Look,” he said, hoping to the goddess and back that his words would make a difference. “I’m sorry for blowing you off for that girl. I know I promised you we’d train together, and- I swear, I just lost track of time. That’s it. We can go train now?”

Felix stood still for a moment, caught in the animal bowstring tension of his shoulders. Eventually, he turned his face halfway back, looking somewhere down and to the left of Sylvain’s eyes.

“… Don’t bother with excuses,” he muttered. “Follow me to the training grounds if you want. See if I care.”

He pulled his arm out of Sylvain’s arm- not a yank- and stalked off.

Sylvain watched him go for a moment, putting a hand on his hip. All things considered, it could have gone worse. Then, he shook his head, sighed, and followed.

The two of them had always been like this- Felix a spitfire, Sylvain his even-tempered and easy-going companion. That was how he liked to think of it, at least. He liked the dynamic between them. He liked always knowing where he was with Felix- because if he did something to piss him off, goddess knew he would tell him.

In this case, at least, it was justified. He had been in town before their training session, and a girl caught his eye. She had been trying to get his attention, had approached him in a way he recognized. He knew what she wanted.

The girl had told him her name, which he promptly forgot. They walked around town for a bit, he bought her a couple of trinkets, she insisted on going back to his room. Which was- whatever, really. They had started getting handsy, Sylvain had started getting into it, and then Felix walked in on them and things had taken a decidedly downwards turn.

What about her was so distracting, he had missed an appointment with his oldest friend? Sylvain rubbed his chin as he passed through the doors that separated the training grounds from the rest of the monastery, stepping under a shadowed arch.

Come to think of it, he could hardly remember the colour of her hair- brownish, or maybe mousey blonde. Her name was long gone. Just another girl.

Sylvain stepped into the training grounds proper. Felix was already there, facing him; he held a wooden sword in one hand and a wooden lance in the other.

“Catch,” he called, and tossed the lance at Sylvain. He caught it deftly, rubbing his thumb along the sweat-stained shaft.

Sylvain grinned. “We good?”

“No,” Felix shot back, and dropped into a low stance.

So, par for the course. Sylvain did the same- he bent his knees, elbow crooked, lance tucked along his forearm and pointed towards his opponent. They crept towards each other, shuffling in a little semi-circle. He knew that sometimes, this was the only way for Felix to get his feelings out. He needed to be strong- but not only that, he needed to prove it. Sparring was really the only way he knew how.

Felix flashed out first, eyes glinting in an echo of sunset orange. He moved like a ballroom dancer- Sylvain stepped back, joining his waltz for just a moment before spinning away with a twirl of his lance. Showing off. Was it dumb? Yes. Would he do it anyways? Of course.

They clashed again, and Felix scored a touch on his ribs, hard enough to hurt. Sylvain huffed- then, he brought the butt of his spear around and it whapped Felix’s thigh, sending him off balance. There was a stumble, and Sylvain pressed the advantage-

And then Felix did _something_ with his legs, his hands- and then Sylvain was staring at the sky with the wind knocked out of his lungs and Felix’s fists balled in his collar.

A tense moment. Then, Sylvain laughed, and it was over. Felix stepped back and let Sylvain dust himself off, though he didn’t stand- he just stayed crosslegged on the ground, grinning up at his friend like a goof.

“Should have known you’d get me,” he smiled.

Felix huffed. “You got cocky.”

“Yeah, I know. Landed on my ass for it, too. What was that last move? You’ve never been much of a hand-to-hand guy.”

He made a dismissive motion. “Was training with Caspar the other day. I thought I’d try something new.”

“You’re so good, it’s unfair.” Sylvain held out a hand, and after a moment, Felix helped him up. His palm was rough, cracked- his fingernails were short. Felix had an old habit of picking at them when nervous. But his fingers were strong, and he held his grip for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Sylvain decided it was a good moment to try and apologize again.

“Felix,” he started. “I really am sorry for ditching you before. I promise it won’t happen again-“

The thunder in Felix’s eyes, once muted, flared back up. “You say that every time,” he snapped. “I don’t want an apology. I want your behaviour to _change_.” He glared. “You never think about your actions. How you _hurt_ the people around you.”

An old argument, an old hurt. Sylvain grimaced. “Listen. I really am sorry, but- it’s not like I ever ditch you, right? It’s been ages since-“

“This isn’t about that!” Felix shouted.

Stunned silence.

“I don’t give a _shit_ about that,” he snarled. “But you- that girl, you--“ he waved his hand, a short, angry motion. “I walk in and see you with that girl, and her hand’s halfway down your pants, and how in damnation am I supposed to feel about that?!”

Sylvain didn’t know what to say, mouth half-open. Half of him wanted to defend himself. The other half wanted to know where this was even coming from. He paused for a moment, trying to think, trying to figure out something that wouldn’t make their spat even worse.

Apparently, his silence took too long.

Felix threw aside his sword, spat out a “whatever”, and stalked away, leaving Sylvain mystified and more than a little bit sore.

2.

Dimitri was dead.

He had been dead since Duscur, as far as Felix was concerned, but this- this was _real_. Dimitri was dead in a very real way and he wasn’t coming back.

Felix had only so much room for loss in his heart.

There was Glenn- old, but still painful, aching in the wrong kinds of weather.

There was the professor. This one was raw and fresh. The Blue Lions had spent days trawling through the rivers near Garreg Mach, praying for even a body to bury. Nothing, of course. Another person Felix admired, gone. Dirt was still caked under his fingernails from sifting through the silty water.

And now-

Now, the boar. Dimitri. Dead, again.

All this loss, built up behind straining dams. Felix didn’t think he could take much more.

He vaguely listened to the conversation around him as he paced back and forth, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Rodrigue and Margrave Gautier were shouting at each other, preparing for war. Counts Galatea and Charon mediated. The traitorous bastards from Rowe were gone, and-

No Blaiddyd head.

 _If there’s a Blaiddyd head still around, it’s probably impaled on a spike in Fhirdiad,_ a vicious little voice whispered. Felix gritted his teeth.

Ingrid was back in Galatea, marshalling battalions. Sylvain was sitting in a chair nearby, elbows on knees, head in hands. Annette, Mercedes, Ashe- all gone their own ways. Dedue was dead too, most likely. Flayn in hiding. Yuri and the Wolves vanished back underground.

They had received no word from the capital, other than an announcement of Dimitri’s death. No corpse on display. No funeral. Nothing sent back to his family, his friends. No gloating.

It wasn’t right, as much as something like this _could_ be right.

Felix had to find him.

If there was a chance, a hope- the faintest inkling that the boar was out there, somewhere- Felix had to find him. Just to see him alive, with his own eyes.

He couldn’t take another loss. He couldn’t. He didn’t have the room in his heart.

Not one more loss.

Not.

One.

_More._

“I’m going,” he whispered.

Nobody heard. So Felix repeated himself. He raised his voice and said, “I’m going to find Dimitri.”

A moment of silence as he attracted stares from the figures gathered- ranging from Galatea’s surprise to Rodrigue’s contemplation to Sylvain’s slowly spreading realization.

He hated the attention, but the words forced themselves out anyways. Felix spoke, slow and measured.

“I don’t think Dimitri is dead. I’m going to find him. On my own, if I have to. Even if we go into war- we need proof. Faerghus needs a king.”

More silence. Rodrigue gave him a slow nod. Of course he would want Felix to find Dimitri. Of course the pathetic creature just wanted his substitute Glenn back, even at the cost of Felix. His mistake.

Sylvain jolted up from his seat, panic spread over his face. “Felix, no,” he blurted. “You can’t- you can’t do that. Not alone.”

He was probably right. War was coming- the Imperial army was mobilizing even as they spoke. All of Fodlan was about to become a single bloody knot of conflict. It was suicide to travel the land alone, searching for someone who might not even be alive. But Felix knew he had no other choice.

“Then come with me,” is what he said instead. “Make it so that I’m not alone.”

His tone was casual, but it belied the sharp, aching longing within.

Felix had been in love with Sylvain for years. And for once, he wanted him to _choose him._

Sylvain’s eyes flickered down, then back up. The _want_ on his face was so tangible, so raw-

Margrave Gautier made a dismissive little noise of approval, and just like that, Sylvain’s eyes snapped back to his father. Felix’s heart sunk.

“I…” Sylvain licked his lips, slowly looking back. “… I can’t. Though I wish I could. Gautier needs me. It needs the Lance of Ruin.”

Felix was suddenly very, very tired. Too tired to argue. Too tired to get angry, like he normally might. He just shrugged.

“Fine, then,” he said. He spoke in a room full of people, but his words were just for Sylvain. “Fine. Then I’ll go alone.”

“Felix, I’m sorry-“

“ _Don’t.”_

He stopped.

Felix turned on his heel. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer- with Sylvain’s guilt, with the Margrave’s judgement, with the snapped threads of his own hope still trailing in the air. He paced out of the war room and called for his horse, and for someone to fetch his heavier winter furs.

He was going to be gone for a while.

3.

Gronder field was a nightmare, and in the midst of that nightmare, Sylvain lost track of Felix. One moment, they were side by side. Sylvain was mounted on his warhorse, channeling a Bolganone spell before hurling it at an Imperial soldier. They didn’t have the face of one of his former classmates- not yet. For that, he was glad.

The professor returned, and he still almost couldn’t believe it. They showed up, after five years of being dead, with tired lines under their eyes and grime smeared over their clothes. They showed up on the exact date of their reunion, and had wrapped each of the Blue Lions in a hug tight enough to crack ribs.

Dimitri was alive, too. Sort of. His body was moving, though he mostly sort of shambled, and he had enough presence of mind to wield Areadhbar with deadly focus. He did not give any of the Blue Lions hugs. The closest thing to humanity he had displayed since his return was when Dedue, miraculously, came home.

They weren’t the only ones who had returned.

Ferdinand left Edelgard to join the Lions, quiet and shamefaced- and along with him came Linhardt. Marianne, upon hearing that Dimitri was alive, had allied herself with them from Claude’s side. The Wolves had been hanging on in Abyss for all these years under Yuri’s careful guidance- and upon the professor’s return, the underground had sprung to join their side. Yuri hadn’t left the professor’s side since, and Sylvain could more than guess at the kind of relationship they had.

And, of course, Felix.

Felix was there. He was breathing, and whippet-thin, and scarred, and alive, and beautiful- and Sylvain was in love.

And he could _not_ find him on Gronder Field.

“Felix!” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the din of steel and death. His warhorse reared at the advance of an Alliance archer, and he flung a fire spell their way without looking. He had _lost track of Felix._

That hadn’t happened since they were children.

Sylvain urged his horse into a gallop, extinguishing his fire and gripping the Lance of Ruin. He charged deeper into Imperial forces, where he could see Edelgard watching the battle from her dais. He saw Petra, to his left, sword raised- he saw Bernadetta, valiantly defending the center mount. He saw Hubert. He saw Felix.

He saw Felix.

Felix had one knee on the ground, sword clenched. Lightning crackled around him in a shower of sparks, and around him lay the corpses of at least five enemies, their battalions dispersed. He was hurt, bad. He was hunched over, and one of his arms was curled, useless, to his chest.

Hubert stood before him with a dark magic spell in hand, and Sylvain couldn’t think any longer.

He leaped off his warhorse and landed running, vaulting corpses, slaughtering anyone that dared get in his way. He saw Hubert lift his hands to deliver the final blow-

Sylvain skidded on his knees under a spear, hurtled forward, and at the last minute, threw himself in front of Felix. The Death spell hit his chest like a necrotic fist, and the Lance of Ruin flashed forward, Gautier crest alit, impaling Hubert through his shoulder.

The Imperial general fell. Sylvain fell, a moment later.

He could vaguely feel hands on his shoulders, shaking him, trying to keep him awake. It was funny- he wanted to stay awake, but it was just so… difficult.

“Felix,” he mumbled, feeling like his body belonged to someone else. “Are you… alright?”

He vaguely registered a voice, achingly familiar and choked with tears.

“You- idiot. Fucking idiot, Sylvain.” The hands dug into his skin. “Don’t you dare- don’t you dare die.”

The voice faded, like the speaker was talking to someone else. “Ashe! Get Mercedes! GET MERCEDES!”

“Don’t get Mercedes,” he muttered, feeling confused. “Just worry about… yourself…”

He didn’t remember finishing his sentence.

_Guess I fucked up again._

4.

When Sylvain regained consciousness, Felix had fallen asleep in a chair beside his bed. Felix remembered being asleep- drifting, really- when, on some level, he registered a cough and the sound of sheets rustling.

He opened his eyes, thick and crusted with sleep, and when he saw Sylvain looking back at him, he almost fell over.

“Sylvain!” He rushed to his feet, then immediately dropped to a kneel beside the bed. One of Sylvain’s bandaged hands was resting on the sheets, and he reached for it, wanting to clutch his knobby, broad hand in his own- then, he remembered himself, and instead made fists in the blankets.

“Are you… alright?” The words felt thick and unfamiliar off his tongue- he was out of practice with voicing his concern.

Sylvain’s face creased weakly into a smile. “If you’re asking me that,” he croaked, “then I must be dying.”

The comment hit too close to home, and Felix felt a sudden burst of fury. “Don’t say that,” he seethed. “Don’t. Just- shut up, for once. You aren’t going to die.”

Sylvain blinked, slowly, like it was a great effort to keep himself from falling back asleep. It was the middle of the night, and neither of them had any business being awake, but it seemed this conversation was going to be had one way or another.

“Felix,” he said, and he could hear the placating calm in his voice. “I’m going to be alright. It was just a joke.”

“But you almost _weren’t_.” He remembered how Linhardt, Mercedes, and Marianne had slaved over him for hours, chasing the last bits of necrotic energy out of his veins. He remembered how close it had been. “It was too close. You could have-“ he bit off his words. “You didn’t have to protect me.”

“… What?”

Felix ignored the low note of shock in Sylvain’s voice. “I said, you didn’t have to protect me. I had it handled,” he snapped, ignoring the fact that he certainly didn’t have it handled. He would have figured it out- stabbed Hubert after taking the spell, or something. But at that moment, he had been at a loss.

“You would have died,” Sylvain said adamantly. “If I had done nothing.”

“You don’t know that! You-“

“Felix!” Sylvain shouted, and he was stunned into silence. He couldn’t remember the last time that Sylvain had raised his voice.

“I don’t give a _shit_ about any of that! You expect me to- see you, kneeling like that, and do nothing? Let you get hurt?!” The last word rose to an incredulous note. Sylvain struggled to sit up, then winced and sat back. “If I were to die protecting you,” he said with vicious certainty, “I’d be happy.”

The door to the infirmary swung open, and Mercedes bustled in. She placed both hands on Felix’s shoulders and hauled him up to his feet.

“Don’t disturb my patient, please,” she said with implacable persistence. “You can come back tomorrow. Alright?”

“But-“

“ _You can come back tomorrow, alright?”_

He knew better than to argue. Felix let himself be ushered out, and as he did so, he stole a glance back at Sylvain.

He sat in his bed, fists clenched, gaze lowered. Like he knew he had said something he shouldn’t have.

Felix kept looking until the door closed between them.

5.

Three days after his injury and subsequent recovery, Sylvain found himself standing in front of Felix’s dormitory.

He was allowed out of the infirmary with crutches and supervision- he had kept the former, evaded the latter. Annette had very helpfully informed Mercedes that he had slipped out to Abyss to speak with Yuri, and hopefully Yuri would catch the ruse and keep her busy- and during that period, he would have a moment to speak alone with Felix.

Didn’t make it any easier, though.

He kept thinking over what he had said to Felix- how he had admitted one of his deepest secrets. He didn’t mind death. He especially didn’t mind dying for Felix. Saying so had just seemed to hurt him, though.

Sylvain had a history of hurting Felix. He knew as much. He never meant it, and never wanted to, but he found himself always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. He supposed the fact that they had stayed together so long was a hallmark of Felix’s patience, despite his nature.

Despite all odds, they had stayed together, and Felix deserved to know why.

He swallowed and rapped on Felix’s dorm door with his knuckles.

There was a pause- then, the sound of feet from inside. Felix opened the door and he looked warily at Sylvain, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“What,” he said.

Sylvain took a breath.

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

A beat.

“What?”

“I said-“

“I _heard_ what you said.” Felix was staring at him, incredulous. “You’re really choosing to have this talk here? Here?!”

“I didn’t know where else to have it,” he admitted, and felt heat climbing up his cheeks. “I, um… yeah?”

“So.”

“So?”

“You… love me.”

Sylvain squeezed his eyes shut. He was in hell. He was in a hell of his own making.

“Yeah,” he said, because what else could he say? This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Another moment of silence passed, and Sylvain opened his eyes, if only to make the torture pass quicker.

Felix was a bright shade of pink. His brows were furrowed, and he was looking to the side, arms crossed in a defensive position- and his entire face was lit with an impressive flush.

“Well,” he muttered, shoulders creeping up to his ears. “About time.”

Oh.

Hey.

What?

“Excuse me?” Sylvain said.

Felix muttered something inaudible.

“Sorry, I couldn’t-“

“Sylvain Jose Gautier, I have been in love with you for fifteen years, and it is about fucking time you did something about it!” Felix shouted into the hallway.

Sylvain Jose Gautier felt like he would fall over if not for his crutches. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

“So, um… do we like, kiss now, and stuff?” was the first thing he said- and then, he wanted to kick himself.

Felix frowned. “I don’t know?”

Good enough. Sylvain limped forward and looped his hand around the back of Felix’s hair, and pulled him forward, and kissed him.

And for once, he knew without a doubt that he was doing exactly the right thing.


End file.
